How Supernovas are made.

It will come down to what you think is enough.

And on some evenings, the ache from phantom heart wounds is what will burn you even when your limbs are protesting over exertion.

It’s all you and the moondust seems a little dull today.

Being aware of why doesn’t always lessen the sting of how. 

You were always wildfire.Even when you didn’t know it. 

Even when you thought the burn was a monster eating you from the inside.

But really, it was just the light of creation barely begun. 

And those who were blinded by that light, they said ‘It burns.’

They ran because they feared it would consume them.

They took their little light jars with them and they said ,’ You are too difficult to love.’

And you. Still unaware, still dark, still burning.

I saw you weep for them.

Tears of pain, blood and hate. Of loathing and self pity.

And when you finally stopped, it cracked the urn of light they had run from.

For you, you were too tired to stop it. To cage it and call that protection.

And those cracks turned into fuming fissures, from within sprung forth your monstrous wildfire. 

Sealed away no more, it showed that you everything you wished to believe was true.

It did hurt because you were growing.

It really was starlight slowly coursing through to your veins. 

That when you defiantly said, 

‘Watch me become light itself, I dare you.’ 

To the backs of those walking away; 

When you whispered it to their little dying fireflies,

Praying to every entity you never believed in, that it was true…

It was.

It was the beginning of you.

As you always wanted to see yourself. 

Neither was before less, nor is now more.

It is just you. As you want to be.

You can accept this light within you now. Feel it seep into fingers that you had not thought to warm again.

Gasp as the fire fills your throat, vocal chords burning with cries you never uttered.

All myth of purification made flesh and blood and burning,burning,burning.

All fierce now, look at you; radiating with every conceivable cosmic power. 

I watched you become light itself. 

That struggle of becoming?

That is how Supernovas are made.

And I know nothing with any certainty.

For myself, being a supernova is enough.

——-

Mental health is just as important as physical health. A lot of us struggle with problems today that we do not feel comfortable discussing because of the stigma surrounding issues like depression or panic/anxiety issues. 

Very often  you’re told to simply deal with it, as if it was merely some box with inaccurate labeling that you accidentally opened and couldn’t return. 

These words are for everyone. No matter how big or small your problem is. There is a whole world of people who will stay and be there in your life when you need them. I promise you this. 

By the time you can accept them, you will have already realised that they are not here to complete you but to complement you. 

You are enough. Always.

Let me tell you something.

You said, ‘ You should write poetry, I think you’d be good at it.’

Did you know then?
What it means to be Black blood and Red ink?

Let me tell you something ;
Poetry is not rhyme scheme, it is harsh and cruel and truth.
It will always taste like blood.

Did you know then,
What slit veins on paper are?

Let me tell you something ;
We(poets) are all together and all alone and all bloodshot eyes and unshed tears and teeth and fire and broken, broken, broken.

My dear, if I’d never written those first words, I never would’ve known,
But it’s been a lifetime since you showed me this lifeline, and so

Let me tell you something;

It hurts to become.

Thoughts at Midnight

She said ‘ Does anyone ever consider that loneliness too meet be in search of a companion?’
Well, he’s been sharing my bed , filling up the empty place where my heart used to be.
No one ever tells you the price of kindness and grace.
On some nights, nothing about this skin feels like poetry.
Hold it in, be strong, let it out, be brave;
I’m tired of feeling ice in my  veins.
Do people forget how much a human can feel?
Are the voices in their heads quiet?
Mine are a cacophony I can feel in my ribs.
He said ‘Loss carves us into kinder, gentler creatures.’
Well, how much do you give before you dry out?
She said ‘ Why is it that you don’t believe believe that you are worth fighting for? ‘
Well, because I am black blood and red ink and I can’t remember the last time someone told me I was.
I don’t even know if I’d believe them anymore.
~~*~~
Note: this poem has quotes from other people’s work, I give them all due credit, I just added them because the thoughts won’t shut up tonight.

Of veins and heartbeats.

If you want to be happy,

Be.

If you wanna be with someone,

Be.

Too little in this world is real,

Can’t you see?

Too long you’ve taken to heal,

Go, be free.

Kohl-lined eyes, Lips painted red,

Stereotypical vanity,

On the edge of a dangerous affair,

A clear surface, A turbulent sea.

Fiery veins, pounding heartbeats,

In the search of Normality,

the winds have changed and so have we,

If you want to be happy, won’t you be?

Ernest Hemingway once said, ‘Poor Faulkner, does he really think that big emotions come from big words?’

Sometimes our little words are best we can find. They are true-er than true.

NaPoWriMo-Day 4– A poem on the opposite of love.

*Photo copyrighted, leave it be.

The Phantom of You.

Dear you,
I still miss you.
Or rather I miss the idea of you.
The what if of us.
I have scars from the words you told me.
Remains of what I tried to carve out.
A constant reminder of the us that never was.
I have bruises from where you held me.
Marks of being wanted.
Created in the shadows by us.
I have this uneasiness hanging over me.
This fear of your words, too pretty to be true.
I will forget your breath on my neck.
And the touch of your fingers on my ribs.
But darling, tell me this,
how am I to forget the warmth of words breathed out in the dark?
If we are Ash, am I too no more?

Falsely Yours,
Me.

Unnatural Affiliations.

Dear You,
You’re breaking my heart,
And I’m so so scared for you.
I’ve seen her turn things I cherish to ashes without a second thought.
You were part of my world. Part of me.
I’m not quite ready to share you yet.
May the agised  prayers that have spilled forth from my lips because of her never have to leave yours.
She’s lovely,you see. And I love her so true.
But she destroys unwittingly.
She is an innocent and yet in my life I have seen her wreck  storms that would make Poseidon’s hands quiver.
She’s mine too you know. I give her my trust and she knows I would never betray hers.
But all too often I find myself in fear of her. She knows not the power she wields.
May you never have to feel the cold grasp of fear I felt today, hearing you chose,willingly, her company.
I’m so so scared for you.
You’re breaking my heart.

Falsely Yours,
Me.

We are half people.

Dear You,
I feel like you cleaved my heart in two.
I don’t even know what to say anymore.
You took my words away.
And for what?
I feel like wanting you and never having to face you again.
I don’t even know how to cry anymore.
You took my tears away.
And for what?
I feel like Dancing with you on shards of glass.
I don’t even know why I care.
You took my peace away.
And for what?

Falsely yours,
Me.

~~*~~
“I don’t remember how many nights we swallowed the sky just to spit it back up by morning, but I do remember the way the stars burned when they made their way back up our throats. And maybe that’s why we could never say ‘I love you’ at dawn the way we could say it at midnight.”
-Lovers who kiss the moon.

I’m sinning too.

By our sinning hands,
we’ve slowly built up a wall.
And somehow I got left on the other side.
And now I’m twisting and twirling in this dark,
a dark so powerful, even a god would fall.
But through it all, what consumes me is inside,
a rotting cage from inside out.
Blinded and broken,
these sore,bloodied feet must someday give out.

~~*~~

Covet: yearn to possess.
But not knowing that which you yearn for is the worst kind of agony.

Today.

Today was good day.
I didn’t do anything special.
I got up,went to work.
Laughed and smiled.
I met a friend. Hugged her tight.
I shopped. I ate.
It wasn’t much.
I came home and told my mother, ‘today was a good day.’
I called my closest friend, told her I loved her.
She didn’t say much.She loves me too.
But I could hear the relief in her voice.
Things were better today.
She’s seen days when I refused to eat.
I stared out of the window,surrounded by clouds of ashes and dust.
Hugged myself tight, and never said a word.
Hid from the world,within the four walls that couldn’t offer any solace from memories.
Spiralling down,spinning around.
I did my laundry today. I tried making amends.
I didn’t shed a tear today.
No sir, not one.
I can’t fix you or us or anyone or anything else.
I can fix me.
Today was a good day.

My Intentions.

       The tragedy of a man is what dies within him while he still lives.

I don’t remember who said it.
But it’s terrifyingly true.

The loss of innocence.
The pain of loss.
The tragedy of pain.

Perhaps the worst death is that which kills the spark within you while you still live.
Maybe it’s not dead,maybe it’s hidden,under the things you gave importance to. Things that didn’t deserve a second glance. People do.
Do you know what it is to miss memories so much it physically hurts?
The sting of something that gives you perfect happiness dancing tantalizingly just out of reach?
I think everyone has at some point in life.
There was a daily prompt a few days back…it asked if someone read your blog what would be their one experience.

It would be comfort.
If I’m fortunate it’ll be hope.
But I wish that everyone who stumbles upon this piece of my world finds something they can relate to.
To feel better,to realize there’s others out exactly like you in some ways, others maybe not so much.

I ask that you dream,even if no one believes in you.
That you think,somehow you understand that being happy with yourself is all that matters.

I ask that you let go of anyone that pulls you down, but with dignity and poise.
There is no time,beloved kindred, when manners do not matter.

I ask that you remember that fairytales  are not to tell children that dragons exist. Children already know dragons exist. Fairytales exist to tell us that dragons can be tamed. And even monsters are soft and huggy.

I know today’s a bad day.
I promise tomorrow we’ll do better.
We’ll hurt a little less, smile a little more.
And if we’re lucky we’ll dance.